#I’ve never done black sails/ravenous thinking before this is FUN

[starbuck]

Hmmmmm…. Something something Silver temporarily believing that Flint somehow made the Urca gold disappear vs. Boyd temporarily believing that Ives killed Cleaves and the horses even when they both know that those things are physically impossible for them to have done…

[aelingalathyniusrailme]

Pirate au pt 3

gwyn watched as the shadowsinger pulled into the harbor next to her own ship. 

she had two thoughts as she stared at the ship. 1. it was ugly as fuck. the whole dark thing was so overrated and overdone. the ship was black as a raven. and it was all black. gwyn scoffed in disgust, their captain had terrible taste. her second thought was she was going to slit every single throat on that ship. 

it seemed nesta had the same thought. not only had she pulled out her katanas but she was sharpening her dagger and had a pistol in front of her. gwyn’s saber was in her hand and she slipped her own dagger from her sleeve. 

emerie appeared from the shadows and stopped them in their tracks. 

“get the fuck out of my way or I will use this on you.”

“I am going to ignore that.” emerie responded “Look I want to destroy them as much as you but remember your ship rules.” 

gwyn took a breath a repeated them to her “1. money 2. revenge 3. loyalty”

“and money..” she said waiting for gwyn to finish

“overrules revenge” she said begrudgingly. gwyn was a lot of things but she was not a hypocrite. “and to get to the money we need their help.” 

“exactly” said emerie. what would gwyn do without her emotional rock.  

“well good luck trying to get nesta to put those swords.”

“already on it.”

gwyn made her crew stay to their dismay as she walked onto the dock. 

the captain of the shadowsinger wasn’t there. so she stood against a cart and waited impatiently. not even a moment had a passed when she was turned around and pressed up against the wall with a dagger against her throat. 

gwyn smirked. so it was that kind of day. 

she hated to admit it but he was beautiful. she bet his hazel eyes and dark hair made people weak in the knees. gwyn would know, she tended to have the same affect on men and women. 

even in the dark she saw the scar that cut across his sharp jawline. 

“what’s stopping me,” he pressed the knife harder against her throat “from dragging this blade across your pretty little neck and leaving you bleeding out in an alley” gwyn laughed, oh this was going to be so much more fun then she orginally had thought. “you’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble and now.” he whispered “now you’re going to burn” 

gwyn let the dark haired pirate talk. if she was being honest, she was slightly turned on, but he would never know that. gwyn yawned finally tired of this charade

she waited until his grip loosened a fraction and then headbutted him. the pirate was stunned so she twisted the knife from his hands slipped her own knife out and shoved him against the wall, pressing one against his throat and the other right in the soft spot between his ribs. “you would like my first mates sister, she also has a flair for the dramatics.” 

“now would you like to be civil or am I going to. what was it you said?” she winked “oh right drag this blade across your pretty little neck and leave you bleeding out in an alley?” 

he said nothing instead he kicked one foot behind the other releasing yet another blade and held it to her heart. 

gwyn smiled “good now were even.” they both retracted their respective blades at the exact same time. 

“now explain to me why I am refraining from killing you at this moment, majesty”

“oh yes very classy, make fun of my ships name while yours looks like a damn sewer.” he looked slightly offended so she kept going “what is it with men and black? did your mommy not give you enough attention so you turned all dark and sad” she mock pouted at him

“can it your ship is the equivalent of a my little pony” 

“at least we are original. I earned my reputation, when others see the lilac sails they either cower in fear or they get cocky” she smiled fondly at the memories “and boy do I love when they get cocky” she shot him a look “well you should know since I had you with your tail between your legs within seconds”

“good to know I can now check off two of the rumors as correct” 

“you’ve heard of me, I’m flattered”

the captain ignored her “that you arrogant as fuck and” he paused and gave her a once over that was rude beyond all measure “and you are absolutely insane”

“I coulda told you that” she winked at him “all you had to do was ask.” 

“I am this close to sewing your mouth shut and dumbing you in the harbor”

“but what would be the fun of that?” gwyn was seriously enjoying playing with him, serves him right for shoving a dagger to her throat as a greeting. “and besides, don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”

“if you don’t get to the fucking point soon your crew is going to be following a trail of your guts across all 7 courts” 

she waved him off “threats here daggers there. blah blah blah you truly do lack any creativity. my quartermaster could help you out with that you know.” he was starring daggers and she could tell he was getting impatient to a point where he might actually follow through on one of his threats “ok ok relax. have you heard of the huge hall?”

“I don’t buy it”

“so you’re a skeptic good to know, well anyway have you heard of elain archeron?”

“the witch? sister of that assasin who is a giant pain in my ass?”

“seer but that would be the one yes. well I know her from a while back and she owes me one.” 

“a favor from a witch, definitely would like to shoot you in the head but I gotta admit that’s impressive.” 

“well It helps when you’ve fucked her.” the shadowsinger’s captain cheeks turned slightly pink, hardly noticeable to the average eye but gwyn caught it and smirked. “now that we are on the same page may I continue with my proposal or are you going to start drooling again.” 

he didn’t respond so she took it as a yes. “well I have it confirmed by the seer that if I want any chance of getting the huge hall I need your help. so I have a blank map.” gwyn was taking a risk by offering up this information. “and a crew who lives on blood sweat and money ready to become rich” 

“I’m saying we help each other out. split it 50/50 and then when all is said and done I’ll kill you for ruining the vallahan job” she said simply 

“what’s stopping you from betraying me once you have what you need?”

“I’ll tell you what,” gwyn paused in suspense “I will make you a bargain” she saw the subtle signs of shock on his face. his pupils dilated, his breath hitched and his mouth opened slightly before he fell back into his stone cold demeanor 

“a bargain” he repeated and waited thinking it over before saying “state your terms”

“I nor any of my crew will betray you nor your crew. we will each share our resources and work together to find the huge hall. when we do find it we shall split it halfway between us and separate and will be allowed to harm each other to our hearts content.” 

“you didn’t say anything about harm coming to my ship”

“well obviously, when I burn it, it will be a great service to us all” gwyn thought it was hilarious and only slightly true but the captain did not seem to think so. “alright and no harm of your vessel will come by the silver majesty’s hand and vice versa. do we agree?”

He held out his hand and she took it and they shook. she could have sworn she felt sparks but blamed it on the bargain as a flash of light erupted where their hands met. and when the light was gone she had a new tattoo on her wrist. 

“by the way I’d like to know the names of the people I work with especially those I’ve bargains with.” 

“gwyneth, gwyneth berdara, you?”

“azriel.”

[ddullahan]

hadestown au 2

I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN ABOUT THEM  it’s a constant brainrot tbh and i’m gonna throw the next chapter out because i’m experimenting with things so if you’re new here, welcome, and here’s the first chapter if you haven’t read it:  hadestown au 1 ------------ it’s a love song Music is everywhere in this world. From the hot, mosquito infested plantations to the coldest points of the north, it hums in the earth above and for what? It's off-key and discordant, but it follows the wind off the train tracks as if it has nowhere else to go. Yang remembers growing up on the tracks. She remembers singing with the winds, and hearing laughter in her ears. The Fates were always at the back of your mind, pulling you from choice to choice like there's fishing wire wrapped around your soul. Invisible, they beckon you away from home. They beckon you to the fires down below. She remembers thinking their voices sound unkind. It still sends shivers through her body. The idea that her destiny might not be good, or bright. But it’s not anything she’s dwelling on. She remembers her first melody. How it came from her tiny house hidden in the willows. Willows, with their long branches that wave in the breeze like the sleeves of a robe. Waving at the train, waving at her as she draws chalk flowers on her front porch. They're friendlier than the blues give them credit for, and when she was younger, she wanted the world to know. So she opened her mouth to sing, and the willows suddenly weren't weeping anymore. She loves those willows as much as she loves her guardian, and the little train station she finds herself crying in - but that's something for later. Yang's not crying as her hands dunk beneath soapy waves. She's humming, as she always is. Slow and soft, sponge scraping in time with the swinging door. Voices trip over themselves in the amphitheatre beyond. Everyone's excited for spring to come. The train is on its way. They just need to wait for the Queen to start their summer fun. Yang loves this time of year. There's dancing, and singing. Joy wraps around the rafters and the walls get painted in hope. It’s a rolling tide of an echoing chorus, too happy to be contained. She stacks the last clean plate into a bucket and dries her hands. She knows the festivities can't go on until the Queen’s grace touches the land - but there's something she has to do first, with these plates they've never used. She has to break them all. She has to meet her muse. It's a story that's already been written into the floors, Yang just needs to follow Fate’s wires threaded in her hole-y shoes. So without thinking too much, she swings around; picks up her bucket of dishes. She makes her way out from the kitchen. Except nothing can prepare her for the moment everything begins. Her feet slip into grooves she’s never noticed before. She’s thrown by the recognition worn into her soul - like this stranger across from her has touched it before. Like she’s already gone and marked Yang’s soul like a worry stone. Like she’s already pressed a divot in the shape of her thumb. Ink black hair set in short, fluffy waves. A sharp jaw and rich brown skin. There’s buttery yellow light in the walls that spill onto her face. It turns her lips into a plush, dark valley that Yang needs to sink her teeth in. She’s pulled away by the eyes, though. They're precious gold glinting with hints of amber. They're set under nightdark banners, black eyelashes that flutter like raven wings. They almost seem to glow with hunger. The sight is enough to knock the wind out of Yang's sails. To empty her lungs. There's something familiar in this awe. Aching and ancient, it moves her like there's fire at her feet. Suddenly there's a song building palaces in her chest, and she knows that melody like she knows her willows. She hears in the rafters. She knows its very nature. Yang's entire body yearns with the desire to sing. The world stops. And then resumes. As Yang's pale lilacs start to search gold eyes for that same, ancient ache - she has only seconds to understand something fundamental, and profound. That this is meant to be. That she’s known this woman's soul as long as she’s been alive to breathe. Longer, even. There’s something familiar in the mahogany of her cheeks. Something echoed by the trees. Maybe it’s because the song they sing is the same. Because willows are friendlier than the blues make them out to be, and Yang gets the feeling that this woman is not all she appears to be. Oh, Yang needs to know her again. The woman has a mouth that begs to be fed. She has a body that drowns in that tattered old coat. But it still makes Yang remember that she has an empty bed, in her house under the willows. She wants to offer shelter to those hollow cheeks. Though she swallows the urge like it's a handful of nails in her throat. There's enough pain in it to make her drop the forgotten bucket in her hands. The dishes shatter through the fuzziness in her ears. And it's only by a miracle that she gathers her wits. The miracle being Summer Rose in the form of guidance. She touches Yang's arm, asks her to get a broom. She has a knowing glint in her eye, but it's a little sad, too. Like she knows the world shifted two inches to the left. Like she’s known the story before it ever began. Yang snaps free of the binds in her feet. She jumps to attention, and makes a hasty retreat. Her hands are in her bangs within seconds of the door swinging shut. She stammers gibberish to Summer, who only smiles with love. "You want to talk to her?" She asks in a coo. "More than anything," Yang breathes. She's sure there's stars being born in her eyes. "Well, go on." Summer says. "But don't come on too strong, dear. She's still very new around here." "I won't!" Yang replies, already planning her wedding. "I'll - I'll take her to see the night sky, and I'll give her a melody! I'll sing songs about her eyes and show her the willows when they don't weep. I'll write her poems and maybe she'll agree to marry me-" "That's all well and good, dear," Summer laughs. She reaches up to pat Yang's cheek fondly. "But maybe you should start with your name. There's no rush." "No, but I feel like I've done this before." Yang presses an anxious fist to her chest. "I feel like she'll say yes." "Baby girl, you have such starlight in your eyes," Summer says softly, "And I support you regardless. But maybe, just for once... You should take your time with this." Yang frowns. Her heart doesn't want to wait. But Summer's face holds a deep, deep pain. Her silver eyes are gunmetal gray. She smiles, but still gives off an aura of resignation. It's the same look she wears when something is wrong, or will be soon. It has something to do with Yang, and the girl in the other room. Yang knows that age doesn't dare show it's face on Summer Rose. She looks young, for a goddess of course, but Yang doesn't know what she's seen. She doesn't know what it's like to live for eternity, though she tastes it a little when she sings. She doesn't know what it's like to be Hermes, but from the expression Missus Rose gives… it must be bad. All Yang really knows is that she took her in, when her muse of a mother abandoned her on the road. She knows that, and she knows how much she loves Summer Rose. So it's with her guardian on her mind, instead of the song bursting in her chest, that she says softly, "Okay, Missus Rose. I'll try my best." Summer double-takes. Her face is filled with surprise. The silver seems to slip back into her eyes with hope and wonder. "...Thank you, sweetheart." She says, stilted and unsure. "I'm just looking out for you." "I know." Yang smiles, blinding and bright. "You always are." Yang doesn't remember when she grew taller. She just knows that Summer, in her fast steps and suited splendor, has never really admitted that she was Yang's mother. Though that never stopped her from loving Yang just as hard. So Yang bends down, and gives the goddess' forehead a kiss. She admits to her shyly, "You're a good mom. One of the best, I think." Summer's eyes fill with tears, but none of them fall. She murmurs thickly, "When did you get so tall?" "Don’t know," Yang laughs, "Time really flies when you blink." "Mm." Summer gives a sweet grin. "Don't you have a girl you need to meet?" Yang's face flushes in red. Summer hums thoughtfully; skips away too fast to see. She's back with a soda, and hands it to Yang with a wink. "Try this for an icebreaker," She says, "You'd do well to take off the cap for her." "Th-thank you!" Yang squawks in surprise. Her usual honeyed voice cracks way too high. She blushes harder, but Summer is already ushering her out the door. It swings shut, and she is alone on the floor. The girl - woman, rather - is huddled at a table with her head bowed down. She's hovering over a ratty backpack that's probably seen a thousand towns, a thousand homes, and a thousand trains. She looks weathered, and cold. Yang desperately wants to wrap her up and make her warm. She needs to know her name. So she takes her first step, and then the next. Crawling over to her awkwardly, the bottle held to her chest. It's mechanical, the way she pops off the bottle cap. The way she watches it slip from her shaking fingers. Lets it clatter over to fingerless gloves. She sees a flash of gold hidden beneath those black lashes. She's struck stupid by the way they almost glow in their sockets. And they meet, lilacs to amber. And her heart screams, marry her, marry her. She feels a hole rip open in her chest. It gapes with awe and wonder. It consigns her to no other lover except the woman she swears she's already met.   The song in the rafters starts over, and Yang just stands. There's so much hunger set in the woman's face. It's a landscape of starvation, with valleys built from sharp cheekbones and soft black waves. Despite the insistence of the muscle in her chest, Yang takes a breath, and her wedding plans go out the window. Her every ounce of confidence seems to dwindle until the last of it drips from her fingers. Those gold eyes are suddenly too much. There's a strange, visceral fear in Yang's bones. It pulses in veins of gold. It's foreign, and old. It bleeds with desperation. She knows for a fact she's been down this road. That this lovely creature has held her hand before, and turned away. Promises stick to her throat and rot. Fruit of the vine filled with blight, and not a cure to be seen. A cycle that repeats. A tragedy that has always been. Visions of a future long past. A die that’s already been cast. It's all too much. Her heart seizes, and Yang - for once in her life - runs. She turns and wobbles her way back to the kitchen. She feels those haunting eyes burning into her shoulders. Palatial notes and flowering verses twist in her chest longingly. The song she feels inside her like a heartbeat starts to wail at the absence of her muse's name. The emptiness sits black in the cavern of her ribs, silent as a grave. She wants to turn back... but her feet won't obey.

[synvamp]

Getting Lucky

On patrol. Alone with Clover. This is fine.

Hook up fic with D&M, ridic flirting, angst!Qrow and so much love for Clover's pants XD

Rating: M

---xxx---

Qrow took a long breath. He ran one hand through his hair and looked at his face in the reflective surface of the window one more time. He looked nervous as hell. Great.

 Off on patrol. With Clover. Both of their teams were training but Jimmy insisted that his team leaders share a few hours to talk strategy and learn about each other’s fighting techniques. Knowledge enables control, he’d said. Whatever that means.

 “See you tonight then,” Clover had said as they left the briefing, “Meet you down in Mantle, outside the Service Hanger at eight?” and then he winked and waltzed off, just like that.

 “It’s not like you’re going on a date or anything,” Qrow muttered angrily at his reflection.

 It felt so weird to have a guy flirt with him that he couldn’t even tell if it was really happening… It had been so long! He’d been so busy with Ruby and Raven and Yang and trying not to let his demons get the better of him. Who had time for a love life?!

 The loneliness hadn’t helped, sure but it was starting to be a comfort. No one to let down… No; no one to drag down with his miserable semblance and his miserable life. And Clover had just breezed in. Just flicked his wrist in his cocky half salute as if he was saying, “Luck? I’ve got enough for the two of us.” Just like that.

 It had been so long since he’d met a man he was interested in, he’d almost stared to think that maybe he wasn’t bi after all… maybe it was just because he was young or drunk, things like that happen, right? But there was no question now. Certain parts of his anatomy were absolutely sure.

 But was Clover even flirting? Maybe he was always like that… cocky but full of empathy, warm, sincere… I sound like a teenager. I’m so horny all a man has to do is wink at me and I get all sweaty! But it wasn’t all he’d done at all. Every time Qrow looked in those turquoise eyes he thought, he’s not so great. He might be gorgeous and have a chiselled jaw and shoulders you could yoke a cart to but he’s just a show off. It’s nothing. He’s nothing.

 And then Clover said something like, “They’re lucky to have you,” and looked at him like he knew every tormented thought that ever entered his head and suddenly he was right back where he started. Sweaty.

 No… he wasn’t flirting. He was just like that. He just… winked at people. It’s a normal thing that someone like that would do. A confident person. It’s not like I would know how that feels, all my confidence came from a bottle. Looking up, he realised he’d turned the last corner of the long metal corridor and was about to step out into the hanger bay. A short walk around Hanger Four and he’d be at the maintenance end. He checked the time. It was seven fifty five.

 Maybe I should stay here a while. Don’t want to be hanging around for ages looking nauseous.

 Being sober is so damn annoying.

 “Fancy meeting you here,” Clover’s voice bounced off the metal walls, strong and confident as always.

 “Yeah, imagine,” Qrow replied, turning. Awkwardly standing in a corridor. Excellent start.

 “I thought maybe a turn around the CBD?” Clover smiled.

 Qrow nodded and they walked out the door to cross the concrete expanse of the hanger bay, skirting the landing strip. They walked in step, taking in the darkening evening, the lights slowly blinking on one by one.

 Ok, Qrow told himself, you can do this!

 “I like your weapon,” he said, “I haven’t seen a hook used like that in combat before.”

 “I’m one of a kind,” Clover said, his eyebrows twitching.

 Come on, Qrow smiled inwardly, he has got to be flirting.

 “I’d love to have more of a chance to see you in action,” Clover let the words hang in the air; “Your sword looks pretty interesting too.”

  “Yeah,” Qrow put an affectionate hand on Harbinger, “It sure is something special.”

 “It’s rather… large though. Not compensating for anything?” Clover’s eyes twinkled.

 “From the man whose radio call sign is Alpha?” Qrow raised an eyebrow. They laughed.

 Clover exchanged a few words with the soldiers at the gate and they exited the military zone and stepped into the street.  

 “There are still a few grim getting in,” Clover said as they turned left at the gate and started a long loop around the middle few blocks of town, “so if we get lucky, I’ll get my chance to see you use it.”

 Qrow smiled and they strolled in silence. There weren’t many people on the streets after everything that had happened. There was still quite a bit of damage too, it made the place feel eerie. Like the calm before the storm.

 “If we go around this way, we can check the damaged sections of the wall on the way,” Clover gestured down an alley off to their left.

 “Lead the way.”

 The wall had been braced with rubble and some beams from a house which had been demolished a little way off. It seemed secure enough, for the time being.

 “So how long have you been leading the Ace Ops?” Qrow asked, trying to make conversation.

 “Not long, General Ironwood liked my style. Figured I’d be a good choice to keep the team from killing each other, I guess.”

 “That bad?”

 “A bit like herding cats but I like it,” Clover shook his head, “They’re good at what they do and they’ve got my back. And we’ve been lucky so far.”

 “No surprises there,” Qrow sighed.

 “I might have had a little look into your history too,” Clover said, not making eye contact. “Seems you’re a bit famous.”

 “Infamous,” Qrow muttered, then added louder, “You could have just asked me, you know.”

 “Well, where would be the fun in that?”

 “Not much fun in any of it, I’m afraid,” Qrow sighed. He realised he was being melancholy and hastily re-joined, “Things have been better recently though, I feel like with Team RWBY we can really make a difference. It’s probably just wishful thinking but you know… they’re so young and enthusiastic, it’s kind of…”

 “Infectious?” Clover finished, “I find luck’s like that too.”

 “Does that mean I get lucky?” Qrow asked, only realising what he was saying after the words had escaped. He felt heat rising in his cheeks. Yay! I’m going to blush! This is turning out just swell.

 “I’m not sure yet,” Clover smiled, “Guess we’ll find out.”

 Qrow turned away to hide the rising pink in his cheeks, just as the sounds of shouts for help reached their ears. Maybe I am getting luckier after all, he thought as they ran towards the noise. I’m much less likely to stuff up fighting than conversation…

 Four Boarbatusks had a woman pinned down in the middle of the street, further back a man and a young boy cowered, eyes desperately fixed on the scene. Clover cast his rod and the hook sailed through the air, one of the grim leapt forward to knock the line away. Qrow fired two shots moving fast, he took out the first grim with a sweeping blow of the scythe in sword form and then leapt high. The hook found its target and pulled the second grim off its feet. Qrow arced high and landed, decapitating the beast with a sweeping blow. The third creature knocked him backwards and as he spun up into the air, he could see Clover looking up at him, rod casually slung over one shoulder. He really was enjoying the show, it seemed.

 Halfway between amusement and irritation, Qrow kicked off the building and flipped high. The grim advanced on the prone woman and her shriek cut through the air. He threw the blade and it stuck in the ground between them. Out of the corner of his eye, Qrow saw the silver hook sail past him; he landed and then grabbed the line as it flew by, yanking Clover off his feet and into the melee. No spectators thanks, Qrow smiled. Clover landed in front of him and swept the rod low, knocking the nearest grim off its feet. Qrow pressed a latch and his sword became his beloved scythe, he rolled over Clover’s back and swept it in a level arc. The third grim erupted into tatters of black. The very last creature reared back, its sharp hoofs cleaving the air above Clover’s head. Qrow finished his circle and brought the scythe point down. The blade pierced the grim’s head and it was over, seconds after it had begun.

 Qrow stretched out a hand to lift Clover off the cobbles, “Out of ten?” he asked.

 Clover stood and dusted himself off, “Eight? I like the scythe better,” he smiled.

 “Me too,” Qrow stepped over to where the lady still lay and helped her gently to her feet. Her family came running, the man shouting, “Esther! Oh thank you, thank you!” to the two men.

 Qrow opened his mouth to say, “It was nothing,” but Clover beat him to it.

 “You’re welcome,” he said. “You can tell your friends you were saved by Qrow Branwen.”

 Qrow cringed.

 “You really have a problem with compliments, hey?” Clover teased as they walked away.

 “I’m just not the round-of-applause type,” Qrow muttered.

 “Well, I think you could use some practice.”

 “What do you mean?” Qrow asked, highly suspicious.

 “I’ll say something nice about you and you just have to take it.”

 “Really?”

 “Really.”

 “That sounds extremely awkward,” Qrow observed, suppressing a little thrill.

 “Only if you make it that way,” Clover grinned, “Come on, look at me.”

 They stopped walking. Qrow turned to face him and looked deep into those blindingly bright turquoise eyes. He swallowed.

 “You’re an amazing role model,” Clover said.

 Qrow blinked, struggling for an appropriate reaction.

 “You’re a great fighter. I’ve heard stories about your time at the academy that just about made my hair curl.”

 Qrow’s mouth twitched with a hint of a smile.

 “You’re determined. I know you’ve had a lot to deal with these last few years but you never give up.”

 Qrow looked at the ground. He felt like he’d given up a thousand times but… he was still here.

 “You’re..”

 “No, you’re right. I can’t do it,” Qrow laughed awkwardly.

 “Come on, just one more,” Clover’s hand reached out and found Qrow’s elbow. Qrow looked up and their eyes met, “You’re very sexy.”

 Qrow’s eyes widened and he stepped back.

 “Uh.. sorry,” Clover laughed, “Just an observation.”

 Qrow took a breath, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

 “I wax lyrical and that’s all I get? Harsh,” Clover smiled.

 “I’ve got a lot more where that came from,” Qrow stepped forward and one hand found Clover’s hip. A hand found his waist in return and their lips met. Qrow leaned into the kiss, revelling in the heat of him, the taste of him. He could feel every inch of where their bodies met. The hunger which had been simmering in him flared bright. Finally, they parted.

 Qrow noted, with a great deal of pleasure, that Mr Confidence finally seemed just a little flustered.

 “Well…” Clover grinned, “We still have a patrol to finish but after that… I have a place near the eastern watch tower, maybe you’d like to come over?”

 “I think I’d like that a lot,” Qrow said.

 He let Clover take a few steps before he started to walk after him, watching his muscled ass jiggle.

 A hellavalot.

 And suddenly the rod made all too much sense.

 Hook

 Line

 And sinker.

---xxx---

Part 2 HERE XD

[nanonasar]

Araxcys Alaran, the first Dungeons & Dragons character, completed 04/12/2019

Finished on 04/12/2019 Meet Araxcys Alaran, in a mix of his first and final appearance (or, a sort of meta like what-if appearance if things turned out differently), my very first Dungeons & Dragons character who was there alongside me as I formed an undying (~~haha~~) and never-ending love for Roleplaying! I was inspired to try something new with a sort of vector-based style that I had seen while lurking through other subs, such as "Sketchgoblin" had done. It was certainly both a lot of fun and pain experimenting in doing so, a wonderful learning experience, and I will continue to look and try new styles! One of the most important lessons: actually look at the art you are inspired by so as to get a clearer idea of how something might be done instead of winging it. A Red Dragonborn Trickster Domain Cleric, Araxcys Alaran did not start with a name at all and had, as many first characters do, an edgy and deeply involved with the wicked. Introduced as level 5 (with some hella nice rolled stats and continuing until level 17 in a two and a half year campaign, he went on a long journey from godless chosen champion to betrayed chosen-again-and-risen lich with an endearing crew of the damned and adopted celestial daughter to sail the ship left behind by those that used to make the world feel more full. Awakening one strange morning lying alone in a serene, grassy knoll, Araxcys, surprised to not be forcefully awoken by the violent and crazed spirits of demonic fiends he had been forced to repeatedly fight until death ad nauseam but instead feeling rejuvenated and reborn anew (14 year old me would approve of such a story), found himself stripped entirely of any and all possessions, lost and confused of the foreign lands that surround him, and strangely constantly smelling of brimstone. Embarrassed and covering himself, he managed to weasel his way into a nearby city, past the gate guards, whom he had persuaded to give him money, and to the local tavern+sauna (medieval fantasy be damned, I suppose). It was in this sauna, sitting among other equally nude and sweaty men, that he was approached by fellow strangers, strangers that would later become his closest friends in this new life, that would make Araxcys (dubbed "Stinky" in response to the lack of a name) feel as though he was not so alone and empty in the world. Through a series of trials and tribulations, as any other band of adventurers might encounter, Araxcys grew more and more attached to his companions. So much so that he would go great lengths just to ensure that he could stay with these friends and not be left behind, for it was the solitude that he was cursed, he knew by some sort of deity, to his hellish fate. However, Araxcys would soon think the gods and goddesses of fate once again curse him so, or perhaps this whole new life he lead was simply a masterminded torture; for Araxcys cruelly was forced to watch his friends be ripped from his clutches, one by one. All leading to the climactic battle deep in a dark dungeon housing the cultists seeking to turn one of the two last remaining friends into a false and evil being, the cursed armor that had crossed paths with the party months before had shown itself and animated with wicked purpose: to pull this friend to the center of a large, swirling lagoon of madness-inducing chaos and forcefully don itself upon him. With his friend being tossed continually into the center of this hellhole, surrounded by the constant chants of assaulting cultists, failure and death close at hand for them all, Araxcys sacrificed his own sanity as the ultimate expression of his ideals and wade into the waist-high pool of madness to drag his friend out, dying to the armor if needs be. Slowed heavily by the rushing tides of madness that would slowly consume at his mind and despite dropping more and more of his gear and speeding through towards the center, Araxcys was too late. His friend, only one of two surviving since the very beginning, rose, donning the cursed armor and red flashes for eyes, to meet Araxcys' wild, sunken eyes. The kind and soft bright eyes of his friend had been lost and corrupted, replaced by the cold and gazing ire of a dark lord. Araxcys was not even afforded the moment to realize the corruption and loss of his friend, before the lord raised one skeletal, ancient, and foreign hand up to Araxcys' chest and cast a spell several levels higher than he was able (we were level 9 at the time), in an instant ending Araxcys with a bright blackish-green necrotic flash: Finger of Death. A soul once again adrift in an endless space, betrayed by his closest friend, Araxcys was not yet done being toyed with by the gods and goddesses. The soul, plucked from the ether, found itself manifested once again in a physical form sat at the end of a long wooden table seemingly floating in a void of darkness. Placed upon the table at either end was two identical silver goblets engraved with spider-and-web imagery, filled with a deep reddish-purple wine; at the other end of the table, seated coyly with a cunning and dark smile was a beautiful drow woman with eight other legs extending from a massive black and round abdomen: Lolth, Queen of Spiders and Goddess of Trickery and War (as I was told at least), already rolling the goblet in her hand offered Araxcys another chance. Become her champion and cleric of evil and be reborn once again as an immortal undead lich, or become truly dead and lost in the ether. Araxcys picked up his goblet and stared deeply into his own purplish reflection in the wine, a decision was made even before she finished making her offer for, as he would reason: "I've already been dead before" Resurrected anew as a Lich, the battle had already ended, and the very same dark lord that corrupted his friend and killed him now called to Araxcys, and Araxcys answered. Turned to a selfish evil that was motivated purely out of his hatred for the gods and goddesses and fate itself, for it had continued to torture him so, Araxcys and his new evil companions set out on a warpath of death and destruction without so little as thought otherwise. A spark of good would rekindle in Araxcys as the dark lord and his last remaining friend, the one whom he had first met from the very beginning, would break out in an explosive and brash argument, one that would result in painful and excruciating death. Being forced to once again watch helplessly as a mere spectator in the last moment of his last true friend, Araxcys devised a betrayal of his own, one he was willing to sacrifice his own "life" for. Guiding the party towards more perilous and deadly pursuits, Araxcys would be successful in indirectly felling the arrogant party by standing off against the much more powerful champion of the Raven Queen, who directly opposed the dark lord and his attempts to bring back Vecna. And so, the entire party died to this champion, leaving only Araxcys to be resurrected by the strangest of phylacteries: an iron nail coveted by the strange and challenged Kenku aboard his own ship. Being the first to once again successfully weasel his way through the fortress of the Raven, Araxcys arrived finally upon the footstep of the Throne of a powerful Goddess, one who very well might have played some part in the torturous existence he had been forced to endure. The Raven Queen, seeing into Araxcys' undead nature and championship of the evil Lolth, had thought Araxcys had come to end the Goddess; and indeed, even all of his companions and crew and enemies thought so certain of his objective; and had meant to pause his vengeance, but had found herself fully astonished when Araxcys had knelt before her and begged to be granted one final request. It was here, in the domain of an all-powerful Goddess of Death and see it wither and decay from the looming presence of evil that beseiged it, that Araxcys had then confirmed his last realization: That all that he had lived through, from the past life from which he has no memories, the endless combat and death and pain he was subjected to in hell, and the worst loss and betrayal of and by his closest and only friends, would only continue should he do so. That the pain that he would constantly suffered would only endure so long as he did. And so, Araxcys, perhaps making the first true decision, free from the strings and chains of influence of otherworldly beings and designs, requested of the Raven Queen, Goddess of Death, to end his life and protect his afterlife as it peacefully drifts undisturbed. Unsheathing her long, divine, spectacular rapier, the Raven Queen asked one final time if Araxcys was certain that this was what he truly wanted. With eyes wet from the emotions, Araxcys, for the first time in two and a half years announced himself that: "I, Araxcys Alaran, am finally ready to die" The rapier was then raised so that its tip pushed into the neck of Araxcys Alaran, who would close his eyes as the rapier made one swift, silent, and final motion.

[mintaka14]

Red Sails

 Nothing ever comes without a consequence or cost, tell me

Will the stars align?

Will heaven step in? Will it save us from our sin? Will it?

[Natural: Imagine Dragons]

 When Marin opened her eyes again, she found herself staring up into the timbers of a cabin ceiling, with a silk and lacquered wood lantern swaying gently from the beam above her.

She closed her eyes, pressing her hands to her face, and made a faint moan of dismay.

“Argh! How humiliating,” she muttered, and started to sit up, only to be gently pushed back by Xuelian’s firm hand.

“Take it slowly,” Xuelian recommended. “You don’t want to make yourself dizzy by sitting up too quickly. You had us worried there for a moment.”

“I have to go get the Chronicles,” Marin said, sitting up a little more slowly, and swinging her feet over the edge of the narrow bunk she’d been lying on.

“You have to have something to eat and a rest,” Xuelian vetoed. She pointed to a table where Marin could see steamed buns waiting, and a bowl of fish stew that smelled heavily of spices and rice wine. There was a plate of thin melon slices next to it. Meixing was curled up on a small couch next to the table, nibbling on one of the buns, and Marin realised just how ravenous she was, but her head spun a little as she tried to stand up.

As she staggered, Meixing shifted abruptly as if ready to leap up from the couch to grab her, but Marin sat down again with a thump.

“Eat.” Xuelian handed her the fish stew. “The books can wait until I’ve seen to those scratches of yours. You can’t go out there like that, anyway,” she added, nodding at Marin’s torn gown and the shredded silk gauze undergarment. “Meixing, I need you to play seamstress while I look after Marin’s injuries.”

The princess sighed, but uncoiled herself from the couch and helped Marin out of the heavily-embroidered red gown.

Xuelian examined her face closely, frowning slightly.

“This is not your fault,” she said firmly, divining the reason for the look in Marin’s eyes. She nodded at the bowl in Marin’s hand. “Eat, and then you’ll feel much better.”

“Then whose fault is it?” Marin said desperately. “What else am I doing here, if not to summon Suzaku and fix things? And I’m failing spectacularly on both counts.”

“You take your sense of responsibility a little too far sometimes,” Xuelian said, rummaging through her medical case. “You did not cause the ceremony to fail.”

“How can you be sure? We don’t know what happened.”

“But you’ll find out.” Xuelian tipped one of the tiny ceramic jars into her bowl, and reached for another one, measuring out a careful pinch of the powder in it. “If anyone can work it out, it’s you.”

Xuelian ground the powders together with careful, unhurried movements, and dribbled a little water into it until she had a paste.

“Hold still. This may sting.”

She touched the mixture to the gouge marks on Marin’s neck, and Marin sucked in a hiss of pain.

“There must have been other times when the ceremony didn’t summon the god,” Xuelian said, and made a sound of annoyance when Marin jerked upright.

“Xuelian! You’re a genius. There was something in the Suzaku Scroll, I’m sure of it.” Marin started to her feet, only to be pushed down again by Xuelian’s firm hand.

“And it will still be there after I’ve finished treating you, and after Meixing has finished with the mending. You can’t go charging out there dressed like that,” Xuelian pointed out, gesturing at the shredded and completely transparent undergarment that Marin was still wearing.

“Although I’m sure the boys wouldn’t mind,” she teased slyly, and Marin blushed, subsiding again. Marin reached for a slice of melon.

“So our unexpected newcomer is from your world,” Xuelian said, turning her attention to the deep scratches on Marin’s arm. “Interesting.”

“Troubling,” Marin amended around a mouthful of melon.

“I think he’s gorgeous,” Meixing said dreamily. “And I’ve never met anyone with hair that colour before.”

Xuelian dabbed more of the mixture on Marin’s arm.

“Has there ever been a case in any of the records of a man from the other world coming here?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Marin frowned, trying to think back. “I don’t think I’ve come across any.” She heaved another big sigh. “And he’s yet another problem I need to fix.”

“I wouldn’t mind solving that problem,” Meixing offered, shaking out the red gown and eyeing it critically. “The hem is still a mess, but I’ve fixed the worst of it.”

“Nicely done, Meixing,” Xuelian said approvingly, and Meixing made a face.

“I may not like it, but I can sew and embroider. Her Imperial Majesty expects no less of her daughters.”

They both waited patiently while Marin quickly finished eating and put her gown back on, and Marin pretended that she didn’t hear Xuelian’s sigh of professional disapproval when she headed for the door. She had a problem to research, and rest could wait.

~~~~~

When Marin fainted, Zifeng caught the Priestess as she crumpled. He scooped her into his arms and whisked her away to one of the cabins before Daisuke or anyone else could react. There was nothing for Daisuke to do but wait and join the cluster of companions who had retreated to the stern of the ship.

He made his way around the coils of rope and barrels, and the row of tiny wooden lifeboats lashed to the bulwark, and dodged the sailors scurrying over the deck. Jing Yun gave him a nod of acknowledgement, but Zhu Yi’s eyes were fixed on the sky as Daisuke came to stand beside them. Daisuke followed his gaze, trying to make out what he was looking at, but all he could see was a handful of black specks marring the clear blue sky.

“Tengu,” Zhu Yi said distractedly. “The wingspan is a little wider, and crows wouldn’t have been able to follow us out this far.”

Daisuke squinted, but he was unable to make out any detail. Zhu Yi fingered the shaft of an arrow over his shoulder absently, as if tempted to put one through the wheeling flock in the distance, but his hand dropped away, and then the specks whirled and fell behind them in the distance.

“I’ve never been on the water before,” Jing Yun said, leaning against the ship’s bulwark. “Life is just full of interesting new things today. You come from Marin’s world? You don’t look like a priestess.”

Daisuke’s eyebrow lifted at that. “Should I be?”

“I’ve never heard of anyone except a priestess coming here from the other world,” Jing Yun said.

“How do we know he really does come from Marin’s world?” the young monk – Zhang Yong - said from the shadow of the cookhouse, where he’d been leaning against the wall. He came closer, looking Daisuke up and down, and Daisuke met the hostile inspection with a sharp amusement that only made the boy’s frown darker.

The big man who had wielded the combat plants in the temple said, “Zhang Yong,” in quiet rebuke, and the boy subsided.

The cabin door opened, and Zifeng emerged, but he didn’t join them. He climbed to the captain’s deck above, and stood contemplating the horizon, his white robes and dark hair billowing around him in the breeze. Daisuke watched the young lord, frowning slightly.

“What’s the story there?” he asked Jing Yun casually. “Are they a couple?”

“The Priestess and her Destined Warrior? The stories of Suzaku’s Priestess and the warrior Tamahome are legendary in this world. Those two,” Jing Yun dipped his chin in Zifeng’s direction, “have been written in the stars since the beginning of time.”

Daisuke gave a snort of derision. “Destined love? Seriously?”

“Their love is the source of Suzaku’s power. The god soars on the flames of their passion.” Jing Yun sounded as though he was reciting something he’d heard too many times to count, but there was a touch of dryness in his voice.

“This god of yours has really got you all wrapped around his finger, hasn’t he?” Daisuke said, just as drily. “Your Priestess in there didn’t seem like the kind to let a bird with delusions of grandeur play matchmaker for her.”

“Yeah, being matched up with a handsome and charming heir to an ancient marquisate… girls just hate that. “

“It sounds like you’re in love with him yourself,” Daisuke said.

“He’s not my type,” Jing Yun told him, and it almost looked like he flushed for a moment, his eyes flickering towards the stern of the ship where Zhu Yi was still watching the sky. “And Zifeng is devoted to the Priestess.”

“So don’t even look at the Priestess,” Zhang Yong muttered. “She’d never be interested in you.”

“I’m not looking at anything other than how to get back home again, so you really don’t have to worry about your precious Priestess,” he told the boy.

Anything Zhang Yong might have said was cut short as the ship plunged into the breaking waves beyond the harbour, and Daisuke’s stomach plunged with it. The wash of nausea disappeared as the wind hit his face, and he found himself grinning as the ship rose and fell, bracing his feet and leaning into the exhilarating motion.

The rough water was behind them and the steep movement of the ship had settled by the time the cabin door opened at the other end of the ship, and Marin emerged. Daisuke pushed away from the bulwark, dodging around the Priestess’ companions to fall in beside her.

“Look, it’s been fun, sugar, but I’d appreciate it if you could send me home now.”

Marin sighed. “I would if I knew how. Where did you put those books? You didn’t let them get wet, did you?”

Daisuke hauled the basket out from under the tarpaulin where he’d put them for safekeeping, and she headed back to the cabin with them.

“You do realise I’m missing out on my mother’s famous chicken curry here?”

Marin came to an abrupt stop and looked back at him over her shoulder.

“What day was it when you found the book?” she asked him.

“Huh?”

She rolled her eyes impatiently. “The day,” she repeated with exaggerated care. “What. Date. Was. It?”

“The twenty-first of June.”

Marin drew in a breath and blew it out again. “It’s still the same day there. What time was it?”

“I don’t know, about eight at night? It was getting dark, but not dinner time yet.”

She dipped her head. “Okay,” she said to herself, “It’s okay. The library hasn’t even closed yet, then.”

“Something else you’re stressing about?” he asked.

“Hasn’t it occurred to you yet that people might be missing you back at home? It was five o’clock on the twenty-first when I found the book. I’ve been in this world for four months, and I have no idea how much longer it’s going to be there before I get home or what the fallout is going to be if I’m missing for much longer. Knowing my mother, facing demons and gods here is the safer choice.”

Daisuke gave her a startled look. “Four months? Then how long -”

“I have no idea,” Marin said. “Here it’s been four months, there I’ve been gone a few hours apparently. I’ve been trying to calculate the time correlation between the worlds on the basis of the last priestess’ accounts of when she appeared and disappeared here, and how long she said she was back in our world, but if it’s been three hours there since I fell into the book then that blows my estimates out of the water.”

He followed her into the cabin, ducking under the low lintel. Meixing was curled up on a couch and gave him a bright smile as he entered, but Xuelian didn’t give him more than a quick, cool glance before turning back to the jars and bowls that she was fitting back into an old wooden chest. He could see it was full of jars and linen bags and drawers of some very odd looking herbs and dried pieces of fungus before Xuelian closed the lid on it.

Marin pulled out a scroll and unrolled it on the little dark wood table in the middle of the cabin, her entire attention fixed on it as the rest of the Seishi crowded through the door behind him. Daisuke found himself edged to the side, Zhu Yi’s bow digging into his ribs, and Zhang Yong muttering under his breath when Daisuke tried to move out of the way.

“It’s here somewhere. Xuelian reminded me that the previous priestess had a problem with her quest to summon Suzaku… Ah!”

Marin stabbed her finger at the script in front of her.

“Here.”

They all drew closer, leaning in a little to see.

“The summoning failed the first time,” Zifeng summarised, “because of a false Seishi, and Tai Yi Jun set them to gather the shentsopao which are the holy treasures of the priestesses of the Four Gods, so that they might have the power to summon Suzaku.”

“A false Seishi?”

There was some uneasy shifting and a few sidelong glances.

“Well, it’s not me,” Meixing said brightly. She tugged her collar down to reveal a glowing red birthmark like a scrawled character on her neck. It faded away, and she let her collar fall back into place.“I’ve had the mark of Hotohori since I was born. His Imperial Majesty named me for it himself, and it’s in my birth records.”

“And what a lovely name it is,” Daisuke said solemnly, glancing sideways to meet Marin’s exasperated look with a gleam of humour. “Beautiful Star. It suits you, Your Highness.”

Meixing lit up with a brilliant smile, and Marin shook her head, turning back to the scroll with a troubled frown.

“None of you are false,” she said without looking up. “I know that.”

“How do you know?” Daisuke interjected, and got a whole lot of black looks. “Look, all of this is very nice, but does it get me any closer to getting home again?”

“We don’t get home until Suzaku sends us,” Marin snapped. “So help figure out how to get Him here, or stop talking.”

Daisuke shrugged. “How do we do that? That ceremony you think you stuffed up?”

“That was supposed to bring Him here, yes. We tried to summon Suzaku, but nothing happened.”

“No, I did feel something,” Jing Yun contradicted from near the door. “Something happened, but Suzaku didn’t manifest.”

“What was supposed to happen?” Daisuke prodded.

“Once the Priestess brings all the seven Seishi together in Suzaku’s temple, and she performs the rites and incantations, being pure of mind and body, then Suzaku is supposed to appear and grant her three wishes,” Zhang Yong explained impatiently.        

“I must have got something wrong,” Marin muttered, still staring at the scroll.

“ ‘Pure in mind and body’? Daisuke repeated mockingly. He snorted. “Don’t tell me your god goes in for the whole virgin priestess thing too?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Marin asked the scroll in front of her sharply.

“No, no,” he said soothingly. “I’m just wondering what’s in this priestess thing for you? You have to keep your hands off anything fun and think pure thoughts. Although,” he added thoughtfully, flashing a glance at Zifeng, “maybe that’s not so hard if you’re stuck with Captain Amazing here.”

“It gets a lot easier if the alternative is someone like you,” Marin said without looking up, but Daisuke could see a hint of a blush creeping over her cheeks. “And my … love life… is not relevant.”

“It kind of is if the Great God Flaming Feathers is refusing to show up because you’re fooling around with His Lordship.”

Now Zifeng was glaring at him, and the chill in his gaze could have flash-frozen the sea around them.

“How dare you speak to the Priestess in that manner?”

“Zhao Zifeng is a perfect gentleman,” Marin cut in, her dark eyes narrowing at Daisuke as she finally looked up. “And there is no fooling around.”

“You poor thing,” Daisuke sympathised.

“You might have difficulty restraining yourself, but I don’t. And a moment of fooling around is certainly not worth risking the fate of the world for.”

“How do you know if you’ve never tried it?” He ignored the swell of outraged voices, grinning at her as her blush spread and she flashed a glance at the crowd around them.

“I am not having this conversation with someone I barely know.”

“Hey, you’re the one who called me here, sugar. All I’m saying is, you’re missing out on some good stuff because a bird – an actual bird – is telling you what you can and can’t do.”

Her chin came up and her eyes flamed with a sudden challenge that he found himself responding to.

“So you think I should let you tell me what I should be doing instead?” Marin asked tartly.

Daisuke laughed. “Fair call.”

“Strangely enough, I didn’t make choices about my love life on the basis of whether some god was going to show up, but now that I’m here, I have a responsibility as the Priestess of Suzaku.”

“Okay, okay,” he held his hands up in mocking surrender. “So pure in body is covered. What about pure in mind? Have you been having any dirty thoughts you feel like sharing with the class? And feel free to give us all the juicy details.”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Her outrage would have been more convincing if she didn’t seem to be fighting down an answering quiver at the corner of her mouth, and he found his grin growing broader.

“So what’s supposed to happen once you’ve done your priestessly duty, summoned the god, and made your three wishes?”

“Order is restored to the Universe of the Four Gods, and the beast god devours the priestess in sacrifice,” Marin pronounced, and then laughed as Daisuke’s eyebrows shot up. The smile that briefly lit up her face was a startling change to the intense seriousness that seemed to be her default expression, and he found himself wondering how he could get her to do that again. Zifeng didn’t seem as appreciative of her levity, and her eyes fell under his thin-lipped gaze.

“Or at least, that’s what the records of Suzaku say, but they all describe something like the red light that happened when I came to this world, so I’m rather hoping that it’s not literal. I assume that once Suzaku appears and the wishes are made that He sends the priestess back to our world and we can go home.”

“But He didn’t turn up when you did the ritual. So what actually happened, once you said the incantation?” Daisuke went back to the heart of the matter.

“The tengu turned up,” Marin said. “And so did you.”

Zhang Yong broke in angrily with a jerk of his head in Daisuke’s direction. “And you don’t think that’s significant? How do we know that he’s not the reason the ceremony went wrong?”

“It makes little difference why the ceremony failed,” Zifeng cut the argument off with finality. “We know now that there is another way to successfully summon Suzaku, and that must be our goal now.” He bent over Marin, speaking quietly to her. “I shall give the captain orders to sail for Beijia, if you will turn your efforts to finding something that may help us locate the shentsopao of Genbu’s priestess. Is there anything in the records you rescued that might aid us?”

Marin looked up at him, her face troubled. “I don’t know yet. I’ll need to do a bit more reading. I wish I could get my hands on the Records of the Four Gods to check.”

“The half a ton of books you made me lug here isn’t enough for you?” Daisuke teased, and Marin gave him another exasperated look.

“What I have here are the accounts of Suzaku’s priestesses. The Records covers the whole history of the Universe of the Four Gods, going back to the beginning, including all the priestesses of all four beast gods.”

“Then why didn’t you bring that one along with the rest of the library?”

“Because there is only one copy, and it’s at Mt Daichi in Tai Yi Jun’s palace.”

“Regardless,” Zifeng interjected, “it is not here, and we must proceed to Beijia.”

“But, Zifeng, if we don’t know what happened, it might happen again and we can’t afford for another summoning to fail,” Marin protested.

“I understand your concerns, Marin, but we need to act. I cannot see another course that offers a better chance of success.”

Daisuke, who had been watching the exchange with cynical interest, asked, “So what the hell is a ‘shentsopao’ anyway?”

“Tai Yi Jun says it’s something, an ornament or talisman, connected to one of the priestesses of the four gods that’s become imbued with the power of the summoning, so if you gather enough of them together then they have enough power to help call one of the gods,” Zhang Yong answered.

“Right. And who or what is Tai Yi Jun?”

Zhang Yong scowled at him as if he had just questioned the very order of the universe. “How can you not know of the Great Sage, the Emperor of the Heavens?”

“Why would I know anything about it?” Daisuke scoffed. “I’m not from around here, remember? And you’re on first name terms with the Emperor of the Heavens?”

The young monk drew himself up proudly, his grip tightening on the staff he held as he stared down Daisuke. “I have trained at Mt Daichi since I was six. Tai Yi Jun herself chose to take me in and oversaw my instruction.”

“Well, good for you, sparky,” Daisuke said.

Somewhere out on deck the deep-voiced gong shivered in the air, and Daisuke could hear the clump of feet in answer. From the cookhouse, there was a clatter of bowls and voices, and Xuelian pushed everyone towards the door. Before he could follow them, Xuelian caught at his arm.

“Not like that, you don’t,” she said decisively, nodding at the jeans and leather coat he was still wearing under armour. She turned back to a chest at the other end of the stateroom, and bent over it, turning over the clothes inside. Xuelian handed him a bundle of clothes, a black tunic and loose trousers that felt like rough silk, and when he began to strip off his armour and coat the doctor hustled the young princess towards the door.

He heard Meixing whisper, “But I want to stay!” as he started to tug his t-shirt over his head, but the door clicked shut firmly on the princess’ protests. He shook his head with a grin and tossed the t-shirt into a corner. As he reached for the tunic, he glanced up and caught Marin staring before she looked away quickly and fixed her attention on the books in front of her. His grin grew wider as he shrugged the rest of the clothes on and wrapped the tunic into place.

“What happened when you found the book?” she asked, not looking up from her notes.

He shrugged. “I saw the book on my desk, I heard you yelling for help, there was a flash of red light, and bang.”

At that, she looked up impatiently. “That’s it? Did anything else happen before that? Anything strange?”

“Other than the tengu?”

There was a long silence.

“What?”

“Three guys tried to jump me when I was on my way home, but they turned into crows when I fought them off. With my teeny tiny knife,” he added provocatively.

Marin cast her eyes up to the rafters, and he could hear her muttering something under her breath. It didn’t sound complimentary. She made him describe, in excruciating detail, every second of the encounter and exactly what the tengu had said when they attacked him, and then grilled him on everything from the breakfast he’d eaten to the train route he’d taken while she took notes.

“And you’d never seen the book before? No one else could have put it there?”

“Well, where did you find it?” he asked. “If it was the same day after school then you opened it only a couple of hours before it turned up in my bedroom. Someone would have had to get if from wherever you had it to Arakicho and upstairs past my mother.”

“I found it in the Einosuke Okuda restricted collection at the National Library.”

“And the librarians just let you in there?”

Marin gave him a blank look.

“Of course they just let you in,” Daisuke amended. “They probably all know you by name. But why were you there in there in the first place?”

“Einosuke Okuda was the one who brought the Book of Sky and Earth from China and translated it into Japanese. He was a famous journalist, but I was interested in his work on Chinese mythology and translation. It turns out that work was all about finding the Book of Sky and Earth. His translation of it was there in the collection, and I opened it and,” she gestured at everything around them, “here I am. The point is, how did the book end up in your bedroom a couple of hours later?”

Daisuke wiggled his fingers at her. “Ma-a-gic!”

At her eye roll, he spread his hands. “What? It’s a good theory, given everything else that’s been happening lately. We both got here through some sort of magical portal in a book. Now, if that’s everything –“

“Sit,” Marin said in a voice that brooked no refusal, and Daisuke found himself sinking onto the stool opposite her, growing increasingly restless as she interrogated him on detail after detail. His fingers drummed on the table as Marin made yet another meticulous notation, but she didn’t even seem aware of his impatience.

At some point Daisuke realised that the questions were testing his knowledge of the world he’d come from. He reached across and grabbed a sheet of paper and a charcoal willow stick.

“I go to Yotsubadai High. I live in Arakicho with my parents and my older brother.” He was drawing as he spoke. “I’m in my final year of school, my blood type is B, and I have no idea how or why I ended up here, but I am definitely not a part of this world.”

He handed her the sketch he’d been drawing, watching as her eyes widened a little. She clearly knew the location, but then he had been fairly certain that someone like her would recognise it. It was a tiny little bookshop near the National Library that specialised in graphic art and manga and books about obscure artists, and the owner knew Daisuke by name. It also wasn’t somewhere that he could have known about or drawn in such detail if he hadn’t been there himself.

“Are we done yet, Priestess?” he asked. “Either you believe me by now or you don’t, and I don’t much care which as long as you get me back home.”

“Oh, I already did believe you,” she said, still staring at his drawing. “But I do have to check my facts, don’t I?”

He couldn’t help smiling at that. “I’m beginning to get the impression that you do.”

“This is really skilled work. So you’re an artist?” she asked, and Daisuke felt his smile fade as he looked away.

“Graphic fiction art, mostly,” he muttered, dusting his black-smeared fingers on his trousers. “Comic format, and illustration. I have a webcomic I’ve been working on,” he admitted.

He glanced up to find her, chin propped on her hand and study forgotten, watching him with arrested attention, and he ran a hand through his hair.

“Is that what you want to do when you leave school?” Marin asked, and he shrugged.

“It’s a hobby.”

“It sounds like a lot more than a hobby to me.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not engineering.”

“So where are you planning on going next year? You’re not applying to the University of Arts?”

“Do I look like a Geidai candidate?” he said wryly. “I’m not planning on sitting the university exams.”

“Why not?”

Daisuke made a face. “Hikari’s always been the brains of the family. What’s the point?”

She gave him an incredulous look, but didn’t argue the point any further. When Marin finally released him and he escaped from the stateroom he closed the door behind him and leaned back against it with a sigh. Jing Yun silently handed him a cooling bowl of fish stew and rice with a sympathetic look, and Daisuke downed it without comment.

He emptied the bowl and handed it back. “Tamahome. Hotohori,” Daisuke said a little drily. “Which constellation are you?”

Jing Yun leaned down and drew the leg of his trousers up to show a symbol glowing on his knee.

“Chichiri, constellation of the Well,” he said briefly, and Daisuke nodded.

“And Tamahome gets the girl. Does the Priestess get any say in that at all?”

Jing Yun just gave him a look, and clapped him on the shoulder as the thief moved away and settled against the wall of the cookhouse to watch Zhu Yi and the game of coins the archer was involved in with some of the crew.

Daisuke glanced around to find Tian Zhen watching him with a thoughtful look on his good-natured features.

“Which one are you?” Daisuke asked him, and Tian Zhen held up one large hand. It lit briefly with a red symbol.

“Mitsukake,” he said laconically. “Sign of the Chariot.”

“And guard dog for an Imperial princess,” Daisuke needled him, but Tian Zhen just smiled placidly. “How did that come about?”

“When Meixing found out we were related, she sort of adopted me.”

“You’re related to the princess?” Daisuke asked curiously.

“I grew up with the stories about the night my grandfather’s uncle usurped the throne and my grandfather escaped into hiding.”

“Huh,” said Daisuke thoughtfully. “So you’re really a prince?”

“A tea farmer,” Tian Zhen said firmly.

“And Zifeng is Meixing’s cousin. Does he acknowledge the relationship too?”

Tian Zhen suppressed a snort, and wandered away to grab the back of Meixing’s sash before she could overbalance as she leaned out to watch the fish flitting through the churning water beneath them.

~~~~~

For the next few hours, while the scenery slid by, Daisuke wandered the ship, getting used to the clothes that Xuelian had found for him from the small store that Zifeng’s family kept on the ship. He wasn’t so thrilled about all the layers, and the sleeves of his outer robe still kept getting in his way, but it did allow much more freedom of movement. By the time the first watch lanterns were lit for the night, he was standing in the prow of the ship, absently flicking his butterfly knife open and closed again and watching the waves break under the ship.

The girls retreated to the stateroom, and Daisuke followed the rest of the Seishi to the cabin that was obviously used by the family’s ranked servants. Zifeng was wearing an expression of noble martyrdom, and Daisuke suppressed a snort. His Lordship, slumming it, he thought uncharitably, and threw himself into his bunk and pallet.

There was a low murmur of comments and observations that he knew no part of, and he turned his head back to stare up into the rafters of the cabin above him. He settled into the hard, narrow bunk, and as everything tipped and rolled under him he closed his eyes on his first night in another reality.

He dreamed of fire and falling between the worlds. Somewhere around midnight there was a soft shuffle and quiet voices, and the clink of pots and bowls from the cookhouse as crew collected their supper and changed hands for the night watch. The sounds faded, leaving only the slap of waves against the hull and the occasional groan of misery and seasickness.

Daisuke fell back into an uneasy doze and restless dreams until something tugged him back into waking. As he lay there waiting for the dream to fade, he noticed a dim light half hidden a few bunks down.

“…I don’t know why he’s here, Master,” he heard Zhang Yong whispering.

A voice like cracked glass answered, “Then find out, Chiriko. Find out, and protect the Priestess.”

The light flickered and disappeared, and there was a frozen silence from Zhang Yong as someone else mumbled and rolled over in their sleep. Daisuke heard a soft clinking sound as if something was being hidden under a sleeping pallet, and then the heavy stillness settled over the cabin again. It was a long time, though, before Daisuke could get back to sleep.